


Scars

by ProfessorDrarry



Series: Drarry One Shot [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 13:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16682881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorDrarry/pseuds/ProfessorDrarry
Summary: “I don’t want to talk about it, Draco,” Harry grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut and begging Draco to just drop it. It was futile, but he felt he owed it to them both to try.





	Scars

Harry awoke with a gasp that quickly fizzled into a sigh when he realised the screams he’d been hearing weren’t actually there. He was awake for the fourth time this week because of nightmares that never failed to make him feel weak and childish.

He pounded at his pillow with angry fists, trying to shape it back into a normal shape from where he had been clenching it in a vice-like grip. He rolled over to face away from the centre of the bed, breathing deeply to try and calm his beating heart; he also stuck his leg out over the edge trying to cool down. No matter how angry it made him, panic was definitely a side effect of the dreams and he’d never fall back asleep if he didn’t calm down.

The bed shifted slightly and Harry braced himself for what he knew was coming.

“Again?” a sleepy voice whispered beside him.

It was uncharitable to think that Draco’s voice was clipped, annoyed; after all, Harry had been waking him up every night for a week as well, since no matter how hard he tried to stay silent, Draco was the lightest sleeper in history and he always ended up noticing. Draco tried his best to be patient, Harry knew this. But six nights in a row of losing sleep would try the patience of people who were far more patient than Draco. The reality was that Harry deserved terse tones and impatience, and the knowledge added to his discomfort.

“I’m fine. Go back to sleep,” he replied gently, trying desperately to make his voice seem stable and calm, to sell the lie he was also telling himself. Draco, of course, did not buy it.

“Which one was it?” Draco asked, shifting closer until his face was pressed into the space between Harry’s shoulder blades, his voice muffled as he made contact with the bare skin there.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Draco,” Harry grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut and begging Draco to just drop it. It was futile, but he felt he owed it to them both to try.

“Whatever,” Draco sleepily whispered, his lips buzzing on skin and making Harry shiver. “You’re cold, you know. Come closer. That’ll help.”

Harry smiled to himself and nestled down into the bed more, nuzzling into Draco as well; his arms curled around Harry’s torso in a possessive self-satisfaction that kept Harry’s smile on his face.

“There,” Draco murmured, his warm breath lingering on Harry’s skin comfortingly. Harry shimmied closer and accepted Draco’s chuckle with ease. “Gonna tell me which one it was now?” Draco pushed.

“Graveyard,” Harry admitted simply.

“Ah.” After a moment of hesitation, Draco pulled Harry’s hand into his own and lifted his arm above them both.“Graveyard is this one,” he whispered, pulling Harry’s forearm against his mouth, lips smoothing down the thin raised line there.

“Yeah,” Harry allowed, shivering slightly as his arm hit the cold air outside the blankets. Draco pulled on Harry’s shoulder until he rolled onto his back and was able to see the concerned look on Draco’s face.

“You’ve got to tell me, love,” he insisted. “If you don’t, how am I to chase the ghosts away?”

“I’m fine,” Harry insisted again. “If you hear about it, it just means __you’re__ awake. We shouldn’t __both__ be awake just because I can’t stop living in the past.”

Draco nodded as though he was agreeing, but even in the moonlit darkness, Harry could see the set of his face change, his white blonde eyebrows pulling down in defiance, his brow furrowing in challenge. Those eyebrows were always an indicator of Draco about to become stubborn; Harry was never sure __what__ he had made his mind up about until it was too late, but it usually caused him a headache of some sort.

“Harry. Darling,” Draco declared, propping himself so he could loom above Harry with a serious and calculated evaluation. “This is __such__ an interesting scar.”

He moved to trace the scar on Harry’s right shoulder with a delicate pinky. Harry smirked; Draco was not normally so transparent. He supposed the middle-of-the-night wake up had simplified his plans. Harry could see where this was heading, but he decided to play along. He glanced down at his own shoulder. The line Draco was tracing was one of three jagged shards marked tissue that Harry had worn since forth year; the other two crossed on his back, dragging down his shoulder blade in the perfect shape of a claw.

“Tell me,” Draco said gently, leaning down to follow his pinky with his mouth, ghosting over the edge of the line. “Where did you get it?”

“Draco,” Harry laughed. “Stop. I know what you’re doing.”

“What on earth do you mean?” Draco replied innocently. “I’m just curious.”

“You know where—”

“Harry,” Draco whined impatiently against his chest. “ _ _Work with me.”__

Harry smirked, sighed, and conceded all at once.

“Dragon,” he replied simply.

“My goodness,” Draco teased. “And this one?”

He had moved over to Harry’s other arm, following a gentle, brushing thumb with his constantly speaking mouth, moving cautiously over the honeycomb pattern on Harry’s bicep. It had never stopped being red. Sometimes it still stung. Not now, of course.

Now, it just tingled with the heat of Draco’s mouth and tickled when Draco added his tongue.

“Grindylow,” Harry murmured, transfixed suddenly by Draco’s hair, falling in its delicate tranquillity so near to his face.

“Those dark water bastards,” Draco hissed. “What about this one?”

Now, Draco hovered over small line that floated beneath Harry’s left pec. The one that you had to know was there to even see it most days; of course, Draco __knew__ it was there, but it shocked Harry into a gasp nonetheless when Draco licked a stripe across it.

“That one is just Quidditch,” Harry panted. “Draco, stop.”

“ _ _Just__ Quidditch,” Draco laughed, pressing his open mouth onto Harry’s chest. “Classic Potter. Conveniently ignoring the fact that it was, in fact, from a rogue, cursed bludger that nearly killed you. But yes, __just Quidditch.__ ”

“I’m not ignoring it,” Harry protested.

Draco hushed him, moving back up from his chest until he was floating at Harry’s face, a combination of annoyance and concern draping itself onto every feature — a combination __only__ Draco Malfoy was capable of, in Harry's limited experience. Harry smiled, trying to ease the tension.

“Don’t smirk at me,” Draco demanded. “You know which one is next.”

He blocked Harry’s vision and muttered. “Tell me about this one.”

A moment later, he had brushed his mouth against Harry's forehead, over the line that set him apart and made him famous. Over the line that had never disappeared, but had not pained him for years. Draco placed a firm, insistent kiss to the spot that had set Harry Potter on a path he’d had no choice but to follow.

“Tell me about this scar, Harry James,” Draco demanded.

Harry inhaled, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist, and said nothing.

“Exactly,” Draco shrugged. “You need to forgive yourself. That's the __only__ way the nightmares will end. I promise you”

“You don't know that,” Harry muttered petulantly.

“I do,” Draco insisted. “Because I know __you.__ You didn't dream about the graveyard because you almost died there, or even because Voldemort came back that night. You dreamed about Cedric.” Harry tried to interrupt but Draco simply shook his head and silenced him. “Just like you never dream about the defeat or the day when you saved hundreds,” he continued. “You only remember the times when you think you failed.”

Harry looked down at Draco’s head where it rested on his chest, calm and heavy. “It’s not like I __try__ to have nightmares,” he argued petulantly. Draco ignored him.

“You wear all these marks on your body. They show how hard you fought, how much you sacrificed for us all. You don't have to keep atoning for sins you never committed. You don't need to ask forgiveness for loses that were not your fault.” Draco paused, growing quiet and hesitant. “Leave the guilt to us guilty ones, Harry.”

“You aren’t a guilty one,” Harry insisted firmly.

“Not the point,” Draco interjected, lifting his head to scowl at Harry.

“I know.” Harry sighed, carding a hand through Draco’s hair gently, revelling in the softness and the light. “I’m trying, I swear. I just… I am going to wake up sometimes anyway.”

“I know,” Draco yawned, settling back down onto Harry and drawing the blanket up around them both. “That’s okay.”

Harry wanted to thank him, wanted to hold him close and figure out how he always knew how to calm Harry down. But he’d been running his hands through Draco’s hair for a full three minutes before he figured out how to start.

By then, Draco was once again sound asleep.

 


End file.
